


Pennywise for Your Thoughts

by Sensue



Series: No Chick Flick Moments [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester Has a Fear of Clowns, Sick Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-01
Updated: 2005-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: A "chick flick moment". Sam's sick, Dean fusses. Bit of Hurt/Comfort between the Winchester brothers. Dean's POV. (no slash, just smarm)
Series: No Chick Flick Moments [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076609
Kudos: 10





	Pennywise for Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> One of the first hurt!Sam stories published on Fanfiction.net and my first Supernatural fic. (Cross-posted obviously)

Derry, Maine

It was a popular nightclub, the beat of the music made the entire place pulse with an air of livelihood and youth. The dance floor was filled to capacity with sweating bodies grinding against each other in time with the frantic beat of the techno song pouring from the thumping subwoofers and speakers. Their energy was contagious.

Usually, after a long day of hunting, he'd be right there with them; chatting up a couple of ladies as he regaled them with stories—some made-up, some true—of his life while laughing at his brother's attempts to remain his usual 'stick-up-the-mud' self.

However, tonight wasn't one of those nights. Tonight, all he could do was count his blessings that they made it out alive and well—well, as well as they could be, given the current situation.

Sitting in a relatively quiet part of the bar, Dean Winchester sipped his beer, then cradled the mug in his hands, watching the bubbles float to the surface of the cold liquid, just thinking.

"Take care of your little brother, Dean," his father's voice echoed in his mind, despite his numerous attempts at drowning it out with loud music and alcohol.

Turning his head, he shot a glance at Sam, who was sitting on the barstool next to him with his own drink in hand. Most times, if Dean was caught staring, Sam would just roll his eyes at him and tell him to butt out. This time, though, his brother didn't even notice his silent attention.

Sam was still too pale and by the look of the lightly beaded sweat on his upper lip, he most likely had spiked a fever.

Dean huffed under his breath, trying to keep his guilty conscience at bay. It wasn't his fault—his brother was an adult. And he'd tried to get Sam to get some sleep, even though he knew that it was a never-ending battle with him since Jessica had died. The nightmares that haunted him kept him from sleeping any decent length of time. Most of the time, Sam ended up falling asleep in the car.

So, there really was no reason for him to feel as if he'd failed to take care of him.

He'd done everything in his power to protect him from this latest case. It was sickening—even to him and he'd seen his share of horrors.

But, of course, Sam wouldn't back down. It wasn't in his nature, even when he was sick as a dog.

They had to question an entire kindergarten class about what they'd seen on their trip to the circus. Dressed as police officers, they smiled and made jokes to keep the little kids from crying. Dean shook his head at the memory; he bet thousands of dollars that not a single child would ever go to a circus again. The fear of clowns would be forever engrained in their minds, especially after witnessing a clown attack and kill one of their friends.

Fortunately, for the children, they'd gathered enough information to destroy the 'killer clown' and keep the demon from hurting any more children. The damn newspapers were already relating the murder of the little boy to the Stephen King novel, claiming that the killer had used the story to 'copy-cat' the fictional "Pennywise, the Clown's" reign of terror on the town of Derry. It was just a big 'story' to them; they'd never realize exactly what it'd taken out of the both of them to kill that bastard clown.

Unfortunately for his brother, as with most five-year-olds, the snotty-nosed brats spread their germs like the plague. Dean had never seen a virus hit that quickly and during the worst possible time.

From the look of his brother, he knew that it would've probably knocked his own ass out—most likely for at least a couple of days, but Sam was so freaking stubborn that he swore he'd collapse before he'd quit. Hell, it was probably his lack of sleep, junky fast-food and caffeine-filled diet that made him especially susceptible to the bug.

He took another sip of the beer, thinking.

The collapse was imminent.

Chugging the last of his beer, he threw a five-dollar bill down on the counter before standing up. Sam didn't even notice that his personal space was being invaded.

Dean put an arm around Sam's shoulder, as he leaned his mouth to his ear so that he could be heard over the pounding music, "Sammy? You okay?" The heat was pouring off his body, and he could feel the slight tremble of his exhausted muscles under his arm.

Sam blinked at him, "Dean?" He rubbed at his eyes, "Yeah, I'm okay. Why?"

Dean smiled to himself; in order for this to work, it'd have to seem like HE was the one that needed a break. He faked a yawn, "Sam, listen, I'm too beat to drive tonight. Never mind that we've both been drinking…I'm going to get a room for the night, alright?"

Sam's eyes were glazed over, but he nodded his agreement then stood up, put his jacket on, and followed his brother to his car.

Dean turned off his radio when he caught Sam leaning his head against the passenger window with his eyes closed. He drove to the closest hotel, the neon 'Vacancy' light was a welcoming sign as Dean pulled up into the nearest parking spot. He slowly brought the car to a slow stop, then quietly shut the engine. He slipped out to arrange a room for both of them before coming back to get his brother into a warm bed. Figuring that they'd be there a couple of days, he paid ahead in order to keep their privacy.

Keys in hand, he walked back over to the car and opened the passenger side door slowly. Sam was on the verge of falling out, so he adjusted himself to keep a hold of him. "Shit," Dean swore under his breath, "You're burning up."

It was like maneuvering a drunk. Holding him under his arms, Dean practically dragged Sam to their room and to the king-sized bed. The damn hotel clerk swore that he didn't have any double bedrooms available, thus having to share one.

Taking a moment to wipe the sweat that had formed on his own head from the exertion, he formed a plan of action to take against the virus that attacked his brother. Kneeling down, he untied Sam's shoelaces, and then slipped off his shoes and socks, before pulling him up to rest in a more comfortable position against his pillow.

Still shaking his head at Sam's stupidity and recklessness, he unbuttoned his sweaty shirt and pulled it off of him. Quickly doing the same with his pants, he threw the blanket over Sam's legs and torso. Dean sat at the edge of the bed, resting his hand against his brother's neck, sighing with relief when he gauged his pulse to within acceptable limits.

He looked around the room for the first time since walking in. It was small; the bed faced a small entertainment center with a TV at its center. Near the bed, an end table with an alarm clock and lamp; on the other side, a recliner near a small fridge and microwave cart. Other than that, empty. Searching the small hotel room for an important door, Dean found the bathroom in the corner. Walking over and flipping the light switch, he grabbed the nearest towel and soaked it under the cold water of the sink faucet, then rung out the cloth.

Returning to Sam's side, he wasted no time in wiping him down with the coolness offered by the damp cloth. He wiped his face first, washing away the dried sweat before trailing it down his neck and chest in a slow repetitive manner.

There was no response from Sam to indicate that he even felt it and it worried Dean enough to consider taking him to a hospital, despite the medical training that their father had forced upon them both. Though considering how many times they'd been bruised, bloody and broken, that training was a blessing. Dean took a deep breath, deciding to wait a while. If Sam's fever didn't go down in a couple of hours, he'd get him to a doctor, until then he'd tend to him. Folding the damp towel, he draped it over his brother's forehead.

With a tired sign, he sat in the recliner, resting his own weary body for the first time in a week. Even though sleep beckoned to him like a siren's call, he fought it. Sam needed him and he wasn't going to let him down.

Blinking back fuzzy eyes, Dean forced himself to get up to go out for supplies. Grabbing the hastily tossed jacket from the ground, he threw it on before checking Sam's vitals. If anything his temperature had increased since his last check; making the need for medicine even more important a task.

In complete surprise even to him, he leaned over to kiss his forehead. Immediately he flushed with embarrassment, glad his brother was asleep, else he'd have witnessed his 'chick flick moment' and that was something he'd never live down. With a smile, he locked the door behind him and went over to the front office to ask the clerk for directions to the nearest drug store.  
Fiddling with the keys, Dean struggled to get the door open without dropping the bag of groceries and medicine that he'd bought for Sam. Trying his hardest to stay quiet, he placed the groceries on the small end table near the door before turning to relock the hotel room door.  
The first thing that he noticed as he turned back around was that Sam was no longer in bed. Momentary panic built up in his chest, looking towards the ceiling with a note of terror. The ceiling was full of dirt and spitballs, but no Sam. Hearing soft muttering coming from the bathroom, Dean wiped at his face in relief before pushing the door open to check on him, a cocky smile on his face.

The smile fell as quickly as it formed, "Sam!" Dean shouted.

He ran into the room to wrap his arms around Sam and while holding both of his wrists against his struggling body. Sam was gasping for air as he fought against his hold. His skin, face, and chest especially, were practically scrubbed raw with a washcloth; through the contact, he felt the fever was dangerously high, making him delirious. Pressing his fingers down on pressure points in his wrist, he broke Sam's grip on the cloth watching it as it dropped to the floor. "Sam!" He shouted again, trying to get through to his brother, "Sammy! Listen to me. It's Dean. Stop it."

Sam continued to struggle, continued to try to rub his skin. Dean fought harder, bringing them both down to sit on the ground. Once there, he wrapped his legs around him as well, until Sam couldn't move.

Sam's mumbling finally formed a sentence, "I have to wipe it off, Dean. I have to get the blood off of me." With a burst of energy, he elbowed his brother into releasing him then rushed back over to the mirror to scratch at his face.

Bent over, Dean gasped for breath as the pain in his side subsided somewhat. "Blood," he thought. The realization came upon him like an epiphany; Jessica's blood dripped on his brother's face right before she was burned by that monster. Standing up, he decided to take another approach. He grabbed another washcloth from the sink drawer, then wet it with lukewarm water and lathered it with a bit of soap.

"Sammy? How about I help you, huh? I can get the blood off of you." Holding up the washcloth with a sad smile, "Will you let me help?"

Sam turned to face his brother, now calm, yet still breathless. Like a little boy, he rubbed his tearing eyes and nodded. Dean slowly walked over to him and led him to the closed toilet seat. Sam sat down and looked up at his big brother with complete awe. That look brought Dean back to their childhood, when Sam thought the sun rose and set upon him; when he believed that his big brother would protect and heal him from everything.

Shaking his head at his now depressed thoughts, Dean kneeled down so that he was face-to-face with Sam. Grasping his chin, he ran the soapy cloth gently down his face, wiping away the imagined blood. He grabbed a dry towel to pat the area dry, thinking that it was a good thing that he decided to re-stock his car's first aid kit on the impromptu shopping trip.

"Is it gone, Dean?" Sam asked, on the verge of tears.

For once in his life—or at least that's what he'd like to think—Dean decided that a 'girly moment' was acceptable. He leaned over and gathered his little brother in his arms rubbing his bareback until the small hitches in his breathing evened out. "Yeah, Sammy. It's gone. No more blood, alright?"

Placing a hand against his neck to both steady him and check his temperature, Dean pulled back to fill the tub behind him with cold water. "Sam?" He cupped his face in his hands, drawing his attention, "Listen, buddy, you're burning up. I'm going to let you soak in the tub for a little while, but first, you need to take a couple of Tylenol to get that fever down. Reaching into his pocket, he ripped open two of the small travel-sized packages that he kept in case of emergencies (well, a hang-over was an emergency to some) and put them in Sam's hand. He watched as Sam slowly followed his directions and swallowed the pills.

Dean helped him off the floor to step over the ledge of the tub. The water level rose as Sam's body was draped in the tub, his head resting against the tile. It was cold and therefore would help to get his temperature down.

"Sam, I'm just going to heat up some soup in the microwave, alright? I'll be right back." He waited until Sam mumbled something unintelligible, then prepared two "cup of soups" by adding boiling water to the cup of powdered chicken broth, noodles, and dried chicken cubes.

Covering the top of the cups in order for the noodles to absorb the water, Dean placed the soup on the end table and prepared to get Sam out of the tub and back into bed. Grabbing a large bath towel from the door hanger, he kneeled beside the tub. Sam was sleeping, his eyes closed and breathing even, if not a little bit congested.

Reaching down to pull the plug, he watched the water drain…it was almost hypnotic. Dean shook his head; he was as tired as his brother from the hunt. Once the water had completely drained the tub, he draped the towel around Sam, patting him dry at first. "Sam? Hey, Sam, wake up for a little bit." He shook his damp shoulder for effect.

Sam's cloudy eyes opened slightly, drooping, but trying to wake up. "Dean? Where am I?" His words were slurred with exhaustion.

Pulling on his hands to get him to stand up, he answered him with a sly, "You're in a bathtub, where does it look like you are, college boy?"

Still blinking, "How'd I get there?" Stepping out of the tub as he was instructed, Sam couldn't understand what happened.

Dean smiled, wanting to mess with him, "I guess you don't remember Big Bertha, huh? That woman just couldn't wait to rip all the clothes right off of you." The effect was lost on him as he leaned his head against his brother's shoulder in order to fall back asleep. "Sam! You're heavy! Just let me help you get dry, eat some soup, and then you can sleep for the next two days, alright?"

Dragging him to the bed area, he wrapped the towel around his waist before stripping him of his wet boxers. Then he grabbed a new dry one to replace it. How he accomplished getting it on him was another story; Dean was just glad that Sam didn't bust his head open on the floor as he tried to lift both feet up at the same time, forgetting he needed at least one to remain standing in his still feverish state. Never mind all the questions that he was asked in the process.

"Dean?" Sam whispered when he finally sat down on the bed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Sam was completely disheveled from struggling to move him without either of them falling down and by now he was getting just a little bit exasperated with his baby brother and his silly questions, "Yeah, Sam?"

"Did we get it?"

Dean frowned, "Get what?"

Sam sat up straight in bed, his eyes bulging, "Pennywise!" He tried to stand, but the blanket was so tight around him that he had to struggle to get free of it first. "Dean, we have to kill the clown! It's going to kill another little kid!"

Grasping him by the arms, Dean leaned over to look him in the eyes, not liking the still dazed look in them. "Sam. We killed the clown, remember? Actually, YOU killed it after you figured out how to get that telepathic extraterrestrial parasite to release the body of the clown, then killed the hairy spider with sulfuric acid powder." Softening his voice, "Sammy, it's over. Don't worry, alright? We killed the bad guy. Now, it's time to get some food into you." He held out the cup of soup, not letting go until he knew Sam had a good grip on it; all he needed was the hot soup to burn him on top of the bruises likely to form from the scrubbing.

Sitting across from Sam on the recliner, it was hard for both of them to stay awake. They both sat in silence eating the soup, slurping the only sounds that echoed in the room; it was the only thing they had energy left to do. Dean finished his quickly, not bothering with a spoon, drinking it from the Styrofoam container. Sam was slower at it; picking at the chicken bits that he had always sworn really wasn't chicken. As he ate, Dean noticed that Sam's color had started to come back and his eyes, while still sleepy, were more aware of their surroundings.

Once the soup had been finished, Dean helped Sam untangle himself from the blanket and helped him get in between the sheets of the bed. "Dean?" Sam asked, yet another question.

Dean sighed, wiping his face with both of his hands, "Yeah?"

"Do you want to share? You know…the bed?" He rolled over so that Dean could squeeze in next to him if he wanted.

Dean smiled, "Alright, but if you tell anyone—well, let's just say I still have a picture of you and your favorite pajamas hidden away and ready to pull out in a moment's notice."

A pillow got flung into his face, "Not the butt-flap one! How the hell did you get that? I thought I burned all those pictures!"

Dean grabbed a blanket from the closet near the door, lying on top of the comforter before tucking a knife under his pillow and covering himself with the extra blanket. "Hey, I couldn't let a work of art disappear like that. I might need something from you one day—and that's when a little blackmail will come in handy."

Sam rolled back over to face his brother, "Jerk."

"Yeah, but at least I'm pretty." He said it with a smile, reaching over to feel Sam's forehead for a temperature one last time before closing his eyes to fall asleep. "Hey, it worked! Your fever's down and you're rational again. Yes, I'm a genius," Dean pretended to roar, pumping his fists in the air.

Smiling back at him, Sam quietly spoke. "Dean?"

Dean forced one eyelid to open, "Sam, I'm going to kill you soon if you ask me any more dumb questions. Just go to sleep."

"I just wanted to say-," Sam began.

Rolling his eyes now, Dean flung his hand against his brother's mouth, stopping him from talking. Speaking slowly—enunciating his words, as if he was an annoyed parent—Dean said, "Sam. Good. Night. I don't do chick flick moments, remember?"

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> \- Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural: the series or either of the two hot guys in it. Wish I did, especially Jensen Ackles. I also don't own Pennywise, the clown, he's Stephen King's.  
> \- Rating: TV-14  
> \- Pairing: Brotherly love (only): Dean/Sam.


End file.
